


Dareth shiral

by AWildLobster



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWildLobster/pseuds/AWildLobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about what I imagine happened after the events of the game. Lavellan is continuing the work she started, hoping to unite the Dalish clans, while people are becoming suspicious about Solas' sudden disappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Family Reunion

In the days after they saved the world, nothing quite turned out as they expected. It was as if the world was taken aback by having it’s freedom restored. Wars seemed to be on temporary hold, celebrations happening in all villages they trekked through. That in itself was not unexpected, but the strange hushed feeling that accompanied all was. Banners were flying over Skyhold as they returned and loud cheers greeted them on their way up, but they fell silent as soon as they passed. It was as if people didn’t quite know what was coming next. But there were other, smaller things that held surprises.

Cassandra was surprised how easy the role of Divine came to her. No one else was, but some of them were very surprised by how much her presence at Skyhold was missed and her absence felt on their travels.  
Dorian was surprised at waking up next to the hulking figure of the Iron Bull, a culmination of weeks of flirting, yet still unexpected as the protective arm around his side. He was surprised by happiness.  
Varric was surprised by the sudden greater fame his role in the Inquisition lend to his books, a bundle of letters on his desk every morning from fans around Thedas.  
Cullen was surprised by peace – in the word and in his own mind, and the world full of possibilities around him.

Lavellan surprised them all the most. She had always been taciturn, as much as their other lost elven companion, and yet people had known that the two were close. They had expected anger or tears at Solas’ sudden departure, not quiet, sad acceptance and it made people vaguely uncomfortable. She did not seek any of them out for comfort, but neither did she avoid it. She came to each and all of their now frequent card games, and was not overly subdued. She kept up their excursions to seal the remaining rifts, kept the requisition well stocked and no judgement unspoken. She helped Dorian write letters to Tevinter magisters he thought would be open to change, worked with Cullen, Fiona and Vivienne and small councils of Templars and mages to find a way to give mages their freedom while remaining safe (“If we can pitch our ideas to Vivienne, we can get ANYONE to join us.” Lavellan had announced passionately.).

People were trying to avoid mentioning his name around her for the first few weeks, but she had no such qualms. “Solas would have loved this.” was a common, wistful comment, whenever they stumbled upon some ruins in Emprise du Lions or elsewhere. She liked sitting in his study, working from his old desk, and there was much muttering about how sad it was for her, but she never let the obvious nostalgia stop her from more practical concerns. When the rooms around Skyhold became more and more filled with ambassadors from all corners of the continent, she quietly gathered the few things Solas had left and reassigned the room to be used as a secondary reception area.

“The paintings are too nice to be hidden away anyway.” She commented to Josephine when she suggested they could find other rooms to use. “Get me a big table, we can set up the dinner for the Antivan delegation here next week.”

The delegation was suitably impressed by the elven handiwork and Leliana was instructed to receive Orlesian officials in that room in the future. “I would like to see my people accepted by humans.” Lavellan said. “I believe we have to show them that things have changed.” She had invited members of different Dalish clans around Thedas to join her court, as well as representatives of City Elves. No announcements were made or threats uttered, instead they were slowly introduced at official functions and sent as Inquisition negotiators to foreign courts.

Lavellan made very similar arrangement for dwarves and qunari and the Orlesian ambassador soon wrote with much distaste of the mixed company at Skyhold gatherings. “She seems to have chosen them for their stoic nature, it is impossible to get a rise out of any of the foreign forces, expect perhaps that young elf girl and the heathen mercenary leader.” If Celene agreed or disagreed with him was impossible to determine, but she set the tone for other leaders and kept quiet, careful not to risk her alliance with the Inquisition that had won and secured her throne.

As the weeks passed however, people’s confusion at Solas departure turned to suspicion. A well times exit for the quiet elf, they said. Too sudden and too quiet. And wherever did he come from that day back in haven, conveniently knowledgeable about what they were about to face? The inner circle did not join the whispers although they could not suppress their own doubts, save perhaps Cole. Then mainly worried what would happen if the Inquisitor was confronted with these accusations, not really able to guess what her reaction would be like.

“I don’t want to think ill of Solas, he fought bravely on our side.”, Blackwall said to Varric, as they helped supervise the arrival of yet another caravan filled with resources to aid the Inquisition, now ironically more frequent then they ever were when they were facing their enemies. “But he really did not leave us much to defend him.”

“You mark my words, Beardface, my money is on Lavellan knowing exactly where he is.” Varric retorted. “Why else would she be so calm about any this.”

“I find this hard to believe, she has never kept secrets like that from us before.”

“I’m just saying something is up.” Varric said. “I’ve been blindsided by my share of apostate eccentrics so I won’t claim to be an expert on sniffing them out, but I could swear that elf had fallen hard for our Inquisitor. She even got him to blush once or twice.”

They decided to let the matter rest as a loud horn announced a new set of arrivals. “Who is it now!” Varric groaned. “She’s turning this place into a barrel of gunpowder with the number of trouble makers she’s gathering.”

“Keeper and First of Clan Lavellan.” An inquisition soldier announced on top of the battlements, and a small, cowed looking group of Dalish hunters entered through the gates. At their head walked a tall older woman that was wearing strongly coloured vallaslin declaring her devotion to Mythal.

“A family reunion then” Blackwall said. They were unsure whether or not to greet the group or if someone else had arranged to do the honours.

“Let’s go” Varric said, when no one stepped forward.

They bowed and greeted the woman, smiling at the hunters in an attempt to make them feel at ease.

“Keeper Istimaethoriel, it is an honour. The Inquisitor is expecting you?” Blackwall offered. 

The Keeper looked the part, wise eyes and a collected posture, a great measure of pride in her bearing. She nodded regally. “We have come on the behest of Bellana, our former First.”

Varric frowned. Surely Lavellan would have had word of their arrival from Leliana’s spies hours ago. If she wasn’t here, then she didn’t want to or could not be. “I’m sure the Inquisitor will be with you shortly.” He said, nodding at Blackwall. “My friend here will get you food and beds after this long journey.”

As Blackwall led the little group off to one of the side towards, Varric sprinted up to the throne room. Something was up, he could smell it. Pressing past the Orlesian nobles that were always to be found clustered in the main hall, he made straight for the Inquisitors quarters after a guard pointed him that way.

He was almost immediately ushered into the bedchamber by a serious looking Josephine. “Come in quickly, have the clansmen arrived?” she urged him. He nodded and looked around in the spacious room. It looked comfortable, more like a meeting room then a bedroom however, with Skyhold’s council filling up the room. Lavellan was sat at her desk her fingers steeped in front of her, looking deep in thought. Flanking her were Cullen and Leliana, one looking mostly confused, the other guarded.

“Why haven’t you told us of this before, we could have made preparations?” Leliana asked.

“To be honest I thought there was more time, that rebuilding after the raids was going to be her priority before coming to discuss philosophy with me.” Lavellan said ruefully. She noticed Varric walk up to the group. “Ah, Varric, my friend! Tell me you stalled them for me?”

“Sent them off to lunch with Blackwall, your Inquisitorialness. She’s got the looks of a scary one, that keeper of yours.”

“A bit. You see I got myself into a bit of a mess here.” She took a random book from her desk turning it over in her hands contemplatively. “I want the Dalish to work with other races and with each other to learn more about what really happened in Arlathan and Halamshiral.”

“An admirable goal. And sounds just like you in that it’s going to piss off everyone involved.”

She smiled. “Yes. I also invited Istimaethoriel, as none of the other Keepers is as open to change as I know her to be, but I’m not sure how well she will react to my, ahem.” She gestured at her unmarked face. “Lack of vallaslin.”

Varric perked up. He had been curious what was up with that. She had explained, briefly, that Solas helped her remove them, but she had seemed upset at the topic, so they had dropped it.

“And you’re worried she’ll think you’re now praying to the Dread Wolf or something like that.”

“Something like that” Lavellan agreed. “I’m sorely tempted to just paint them on, but that would be cowardly.”

“So why did you let Chuckles take them off then? Will that reason not be enough for her?”

“We were just discussing that.” She sighed. “I wanted them gone, because Solas told me that the Dalish misinterpreted their purpose, centuries of oral history twisting something that used to be slave markings into today’s rite of passage.”

Varric could easily see where this was going. “He saw it in one of his dream memories and you think that the Keeper would not be keen to take an outsiders dreams at face value.”

Lavellan nodded and pulled a face. “She will say that the Dread Wolf comes in many trappings and that I have been deceived. I think it would have been different if he was here to tell her himself.” Her voice sounded wistful.

“So what now?” Varric asked.

“Now we need to find proof, that much is clear. Less clear is how I start this off with the keeper.”

“Inquisitor, are you sure there is proof to be got?” Leliana inquired with an edge. Varric knew she had been the one most suspicious about Solas’ disappearance. For the first few weeks she had sent her spies to look for him, until the inquisitor ordered her to stop. Yet Varric saw the ravens she sent after the Inquisitor left Skyhold and the rushed meetings she had with some of the spymasters.  
Lavellan fixed her with a steady gaze. “Yes.” They stood in silence for a moment, only Josephine scribbling away in her notes.

“I guess there is no use thinking about the journey before I’ve even made the first step.” She sighed. “I will go and greet them now. Leliana, I would like you to mark all ancient elven structures we found so far on the map and coordinate with Cullen to make sure they are all easily accessible and safe. Josephine, if you could try to gather as much information as you can from universities around Thedas…” When all nodded she stood up with a sigh. “Lead the way, Master Tethras.”


	2. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor navigates painful memories in the Fade.

Lavellan practically ran up the stairs, ears burning despite her attempts at composure. How could it be that someone could still make her feel this way, a grown woman and leader of one of the strongest armed forces in southern Thedas at the moment? It was like being twelve years old again and in trouble for breaking something valuable. She thought, hoped, that she managed to keep those feelings hidden behind a mask of calm and it could, by all accounts, have gone so much worse. The moment the keepers eyes had met hers, she had to fight to deescalate. She hadn’t quite known exactly how much vallaslin meant even to her liberal leader. This did not bode well at all for the days to come.

What had surprised her though was how disconnected she had felt from the Keeper, who had been her constant companion for many years and the young elves she had brought from their clan, one of them her nervous successor as first, a little girl no older than eleven. They had looked at her in her shemlen castle, wearing foreign battle armor and she could see the hurt in their eyes. And yet all she could feel was pity and a deep distance, something that she perhaps should have expected, given all that had happened in the last year. That was of course before the keepers loudly stated disapproval had triggered this flashback to her childhood years. “What were you thinking!” her voice still echoed in her mind. “Could you become one of them that fast?” She groaned, as she closed the drafty windows leading to the balcony and began shedding the armor that had so offended her brothers and sisters. 

Her court had been completely silent during all this, blissfully empty of the courtiers that had been gently led away by Josephine before the encounter. Perhaps her friends were well aware that they could only make things worse for her if she spoke up. Despite the silence she had clearly been able to hear his voice over all that, as if he was actually standing right behind her, instead of the hollow memory it was. “Was I wrong about the Dalish?”

The words, when they had first been spoken had been like a dagger driven into her heart, for on her travels she had lost the conviction to answer him clearly and to change his mind on the Dalish. But she would make that right, she would get through to Istimaethoriel and the other clans. And it wouldn’t be for the Dalish, it would be for all elves.

Lavellan stretched out on her bed, feeling small and vulnerable and very alone. She needed this purpose right now, help the mages, help the elves. Get things right while the Inquisition still had momentum from their victory. The fire had mostly burned down by now but she was too tired to get back up and tend to it. She would likely regret it in the morning, but she just drew the blanket closer around her and forced her eyes shut. There was no time for insomnia.

The dream she found herself in was as off as her mood had been in the waking world. She felt herself talk to Cole over and over again about something that was hard to remember. He was being cryptic as ever and every time she missed the meaning behind one of his sentences the whole scene reset and then began anew. 

“I want to help!” Cole said and for a moment he seemed very real. She mentally distanced herself from the scene. Since Solas had told her of his journeys in the fade she had been practicing awareness in her dreams. Repeating scenes such as this seemed to be her best bet at ridding herself of the quiet complacency with the little dream inconsistencies that normally went unnoticed. She forced herself to see that there was no agency behind Cole’s words, no real drive, just a memory of his words.

“Then help me go somewhere quieter.” She said, with assumed authority. With some effort she felt the dream shift around her, the wooden floor of wherever they were now changing to hard stone beneath her feet and the ceiling opening up to a wide horizon. The exalted plains, at the edge of the burnt trees, close to the anxiety looking rock formations.

“Thank you” she addressed Cole’s vanishing form and allowed herself to make the dream more life-like. Imagining the wind in her hair, the smell of elfroot and fires, she stepped away from the battlefields and the memories they held. She did not have Solas’ skill and the memories did not speak to her, but she was content with the achievement of guiding her dreams in smaller ways. She walked purposefully towards the younger, intact trees and a cold stream.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of the stones nearest to the stream and closed her eyes, opening herself to that odd-shifting feeling that had set the tone of the first dream scene. She was unsure if it came from her, or if there were spirits around, although she would have suspected the latter from the strong feelings the encounter with the keeper had left her with. But as she sat and listened, she realized it was an older hurt that bothered her, no spirit interference or childhood memory.

“Vehnan.” She shuddered. Not again. It had been very hard to direct her dreams towards anything but Solas for weeks after he took the vallaslin and again after he left. It took all her control away from her, twisting the dream into some sad memory theatre, that she was sure must seem very alluring to any demon that passed through. There had to be a way to keep up with the memories, but she didn’t know where to begin. Perhaps fighting was the wrong approach.

“Solas.” She said steadily, without opening her eyes, willing the scene around them to keep its form. There was no reply and she took that as a good sign. It was when her mind started replaying his words over and over that she felt her control slip. So beautiful. Ar lath ma. It is not right, not even here. She focused on her breathing. “It would have been good to have you here today.” She pictured him standing in front of her, the way she had first met him, a backpack on his shoulders and his face free from what was to come, no sign of the anguish her dreams usually painted. 

“I have called the clans together.” She said focusing on that vision. There was no need to open her eyes, this was a dream and opening her eyes here had no meaning. He was standing there and she was still in control. “I’ve been avoiding calling it an Arlathvhen, but I hope that that is what it will be. And I will bring the city elves. I will make them see what you have seen, I will find a way to turn their attention to the future, instead of the past.”

Her vision of him was not very life like and he hardly stirred from his position, almost making her ache for his usual dream self, so like him that it hurt. But she was proud of her control and there was no reason but masochistic urges to let herself go back to that place in her mind.

But her image of him was silent and had no thoughts to offer on the plan she laid out before him. No twitch in the corner of his lips or raised eyebrows, just that look. She sighed and allowed the image to fade, addressing instead the Fade she knew to be around her, repeating her words. She could sense that there were spirits about, confused by what she was feeding into her dream, but none curious enough to approach her. It was for the best she thought as she settled into a meditative contemplation, as she doubted her ability to navigate conversations with spirits with enough skill. She imagined a halla walking slowly across the plains, feeling the unnatural flow of time in this place.

When she felt a tug from the waking world that she took as a sign that the dream was about to end, she stood and readied herself to go back to the burned trees of the plains, away from the quiet stream, feeling more settled than she had in a while. But as she turned, she found herself faced with an intrusion – a glimpse of something that was clearly out of place here. Instead of the empty plains, a looming Fen’Harel statue rose before her, dark against the bright clouds and the featureless face turned in her direction as if waiting for her to speak.

She almost jumped right out of her bed as she was yanked from the dream more forcefully than she had planned, control slipping at last.


	3. A Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas makes an appearance. :) Hope people are enjoying this! I'm afraid I'm not putting much effort into editing, as I have little time at the moment, so I'm trying to write as much as I can while I can.

Many miles away, Solas flinched as if he had been hit. Gasping, he struggled to free himself from the blankets he had draped around him, planning for a longer, much longer slumber than this. He put a hand on his heart willing his body to calm while he blinked to rid himself of the remnants of the Fade.

“No” he whispered, incredulous. “No, no, no.” He feels the urge to speak, but knows that he is alone in this forest, not even birds stirring in the trees. He set food out for the spiders, but it lay untouched. No one to listen, no need to waste the words. He should get back to sleep, there was no need for this delay, there were things that needed to be done, and soon. How did she know how to do this? Did she even know what she had done? He doubted it. Called the clans together? It was a foolish thought; they would rip each other apart. Why move so fast when she could work slowly? Please, Venahn….

With a guttural growl, he fell back onto the bed, willing himself to focus. He could not allow himself to care. His mistakes had already cost the world dearly, and endangered everything he was trying to protect. His selfish need to be seen by her had hurt Lavellan deeply and had not even brought him anything but a gaping hole in his resolve. Anything more would be madness. If anyone could do this, she could, and his interference could only make things worse for her.

He closed his eyes and readied his body once more. No thoughts of the present must linger, whatever backdoor she accidentally stumbled upon had to be barred up. The world would not be the same if he succeeded and if she knew, she might well not care for his thoughts right now.

\---

The next few days were very tense. If Lavellan hadn’t been the First of the clan for so long, the keeper and her entourage would have disappeared the same day then entered the hold. As it was, there was a lot of yelling, Varric told Sera and Blackwall over dinner. It was a noisy evening in the pub, but they had a room to themselves, Cullen, Dorian and the Iron Bill playing cards at the next table, lending their conversation half an ear.

“It went on for several hours!” He threw his hands up and, once in the air, waved them at the wine. “I didn’t know elves knew language like that, they always seem to ethereal and collected.”

“Oy how did you even know what they were saying? Didn’t they speak elvish?”

“I know a swearword when I hear it, brat!”

“Well, how did it end?” Blackwall asked.

“Yes, one would think there were repercussions to cussing out the ruler of an organization such as ours!” Dorian interjected, looking up from his cards.

“Not as far as I could see! She did find a way to shut the keeper up in the end, however. I think she was ready to storm out, but the Inquisitor, who had listened to her tirades with nothing more than a slight blush, suddenly grabs her arm and says some choice words that I wish I had understood.” He points his mug of ale at Sera who was frowning at her hand. “The keeper turns white as a sheet and then Lavellan drags her off to the reception with Chuckle’s finger paint in it.”

“You can’t be serious!” Dorian exclaimed. “It pretty alright but I would have expected better from a Dalish keeper than to give in so easily.”

“Well that’s because she didn’t. At least not for another few hours.”

Everyone looked at him expectantly at this point. “What? I don’t know more, they closed the door and went out the other way. No one ever tells the dwarf anything.”

“So you were waiting outside the door for several hours?” Cullen groaned. “Didn’t you have anything better to do?”

The Iron Bull had been quiet so far but he grunted at that. “Not that there’s much to do around here lately. I liked this place better when it was us against demons. Haven’t had a fight in a month.”

They all looked a bit sullen. Inaction had been bliss for the first little while, but it grew stale as more and more ambassadors arrived and formal dinners were held.

“I hope you’re not thinking of bailing on us now?” Sera was eyeing Bull and Dorian suspiciously. “We owe the Inquisitor big time.”

“No!” Dorian said decisively although Bull looked less convinced. “We’re not going anywhere. Although it would nice to get out of Skyhold for a while.”

“Well you might just be in luck then.” Varric said. “I may not have heard more from the keeper, but I saw the report Scribbles came up with about the elven ruins. Looks like the places are practically infected with demons and ancient curses.”

“Dunno about you, but I’m kinda fed up with elves right now.” Sera declared. “The inquisitor’s going to make me sit in on the talks with the stuck up buggers she’s planning.”

A movement at the corner of their eyes reminded them of Cole’s presence, forgotten for a little while. It was a disconcerting feeling that was not something that one got used to over time. Sera glared. The boy looked unhappy. “If we are not on her side for this, who will be?”

The group went silent.

“She needs to help, needs to fix this, all of it. Not just the big things, the small things as well and there’s so little time. And now she’s all alone and scared. We have to help.”

Varric rubbed his nose, guiltily. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll help. She knows we’ve got her back in this. It’s about time someone tries to make people get along instead of blowing up a Chantry to make a point.” The others looked suitably chastised.

“At least it’s not all about the elves. I got a ton of aid for my friends.” Sera said, in way of agreement. “And she got all those Tevinter kids out here for Dorian.”

Bull frowned. “Still not convinced you’ll get anywhere by getting more Vints into this place.”

“Change has to start somewhere. And away from the Tevinter politics and casual blood magic, they’ve got a chance to learn. With me as their shining example, of course.” Dorian protested. They were talking about a group of young mages, second and third sons and daughters sent to experience the court at Skyhold.

Cole, happy to have changed the drift of the conversation put his head on his hands and got back to watching the other patrons of the pub intently.

Outside, the mood over Skyhold shone brightly, lighting up the improved courtyard and battlements. Few things hinted at the state the hold had been in only a few weeks ago and even at this time of night there was a lively bustle, people shuffling in and out of the pub, flickering lights suggesting late meetings in the main building. And, at the topmost tower, a long awaited raven finally sat down on the wide window ledge, beady eyes scanning the room for someone to take it’s message.


	4. More of everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go :)

Lavellan knew that she needed to do more. Not only more for the Dalish, more of everything. There were letters waiting for her and reports, and she felt the restlessness of their companions that cried out for action. She had no right to decide their purpose single handed, her wishes could only be a guide-post, not a tyrant’s command. But right now, all she could do was press her head against a cold pillar and… smile. The day of yelling, begging and urging fell off her in an instant as the door to her bedroom closed behind her.

The keeper had been proud and angry, but at last, the woman she knew Istimaethoriel could be had made an appearance and she had agreed to leave one of the hunters behind to accompany them on their excursion into the temples. And a promise – if they found something, she would return and listen. She could not have asked for more, not without any more proof and not speaking to her from the height of a shemlen throne.

This calmed her worries, her fears of chasing a futile dream – but there was more to her lifted spirits than that and she owed it to herself to examine that thought. He had heard her, that night. She didn’t know how or why she could be so sure of that, but she knew without the shadow of a doubt. And for that to be true, he had to be alive still. Not just a torturous memory to taunt her at night.

“Are you not angry at all, my dear?” Vivienne had asked her before she left to prepare their work on a circle solution a fortnight ago. She could tell then that the mage had been holding in that particular question for a long time, as it came out of nowhere. She had felt it dishonest to pretend not to know what she was talking about. For any anger she was lacking, the older woman’s eyes had held a well of contempt and outrage that she would do well to contain.

“Please Vivienne. He has done nothing to deserve any of our anger. We may not know where he went, but he has given no reason to doubt his good intentions. I…” The emotion had been unwelcome, but she allowed it to show on her face to not put her sincerity into question. “I knew he was going to leave. He made that clear, even if he did not explain.”

No, she had not been angry and she had not been surprised. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt and it did nothing to alleviate her fears of what had become of him. But he had been there in the fade, for just a moment just like that time he took her to Haven. What she didn’t understand, however, is why he didn’t come in form of a memory, like the one she was moulding from her dream. Why her mind would paint him in the light of a trickster god – had she felt more betrayed than she even knew herself? And yet it had felt more like an anomaly, something thrust upon her dream, very unlike the insubstantial trees and her memories of wind in the plains.

The association with Fen’Harel troubled her, but she knew it was little more than ancient superstition. Solas had not deceived her, or rather, she corrected herself, if he did he had made an awful job of it. Not at first, his odd tales of the fade explaining away any eccentricities, but as they grew closer, he could not have made clearer that he was holding something back. “It isn’t right, not even here.” She mumbled and finally moved to once more prepare herself for bed. “It would be kinder in the long run.”

The moon shone in and even it’s soft light got reflected in a thousand colours by the beautiful Serault glass of the large windows and she paced the length of the room, stirring the fire and clearing parchments and books off the bed, eyes vacant as she searched her mind, trying to be honest with herself. She felt, strongly, that what he had hidden may have been context, not nature. If that had not been her immediate feeling, she would not have let the matter rest. A part of her, the part of her that was a leader, responsible for others, felt immense guilt at that. She may be sure of his intentions, but she had had no right to choose for others, whom he had left even more in the dark.

But whenever duty had told her to press him further, she would see him fail to contain his opinions even when it would have best suited him to remain silent, his enthusiasm at doing what he thought was right – his notion of what that was always gratifyingly close to her own, without being so close as to appear simply a mask put on to impress her. He never hid his approval or disapproval from her. They became so close, it seemed ridiculous not to simply ask what was troubling him, but then he would stare into the distance looking infinitely sad and tired and she made a conscious choice to let it go, again and again.

It had been obvious that the side of him that allowed him to be a friend and for too short of a time a lover was constantly at war with some moral imperative and she felt she had no right to be angry at him, when the ultimate conclusion was something she had felt looming from the very start.

She sat down cross-legged on the covers of the bed having tidied the mess left from her studies, smoothing the luxurious silk covers under her fingers. No, there was reasonable part of her that felt anger or regret. But there was a growing fear within her, that she should have asked for all of their sakes. To keep them all safe, Solas included. That it had been selfish of her not to want to make him retreat into himself, to have the guidance of this curious friend in who seemed to have a deep understanding of all the things that her people were only clawing at in the dark. And so she had been afraid that wherever he was, he had walked straight into his death and she had dreamt of it in curious variations on her memory nightmares.

If she had contacted him once, perhaps she could do it again. And if she couldn’t reach him again it would have to be enough to know that he was safe for now and that she could undoubtedly harness this new skill for other things. However, it could not be done in haste. Without Solas here, there was no way to tell what hidden snags this dream manipulation could have – it would not do to endanger Skyhold for her peace of mind. She would have to find a way to be safe – whether it be Cullen’s Templars watching her or something less obviously alarming to her companions.

These precautions would also allow her the time to examine what she was hoping to get from him beyond the knowledge that he was alive. Immediately, her mind jumped to all she dearly wanted from him – it made no discrimination between just longing to hear his voice again, hearing his opinion on her plans, a deep burning urge to make him come back, another kiss, another gift of knowledge… but perhaps the wisest path of all would be to let it go, again, for he had made it clear that for whatever reason, he could not give anymore than he had. Wouldn’t it be cruel to press him? She knew she had the power, had seen it in the way he could not turn her down after what happened in the fade and in the small, longing sigh she caught one evening when she had leant her head against his shoulder, standing watch alone in the Hissing Wastes. She knew he considered himself selfish for pulling her close and for quickly spoken elven words of adoration, but she had watched closely for any opportunity to bring out that side of him. Perhaps she had been the selfish one.

Her cheeks were beginning to flood with colour, when she was distracted by the sound of a raven’s hoarse croaking and a shadow skirting across the windowpane. “Ah” she exclaimed placing a cool hand to her burning cheek and starting towards the indistinct form. “There you are!” She flung the large door to the balcony open wide, ignoring the sudden chill. A ruffled looking raven hopped up to her, complaining loudly in a cacophony of sounds. Hastily untying the little capsule around his leg, she reached for some stale bread crumbs in her pocket and flung them on the balcony. “Take this and off you go, you’ve done splendidly!” The raven did not hesitate and after gobbling down the food he immediately set off for Leliana’s tower.

Lavellan in the meantime took the missive back inside the room, impatiently breaking the magical seal. The missive was from Morrigan, whom she had contacted concerning possible proof of the meaning of the Vallaslin and ancient elven society. If anyone within her grasp could tell her where to start rebuilding the flawed elven history they knew, then it was Morrigan.

“What would you know of me?” Lavellan read the words out loud. “I am unsure what you are hoping to achieve and whose thanks you would get for breaking the moulds that the Dalish have made for themselves. I have much of the truth accessible to me, but little in form of proofs. I am willing to share locations for you to begin your task, but the journey must be yours and the voices of the well caution me against being too forthright.” A second page contained maps and elven script, in Morrigan’s hand. It was honestly more than Lavellan had expected, with no leverage to press her point and only a vague sense of the former allies whereabouts. It would have to do and combined with Josephine’s efforts it was enough to get them started on this path.

A sense of purpose. However, again, it was her purpose, not the Inquisition’s and she had more than the elves to think of. It was time to get her friends on board with her plans, with all the pieces laid out on the chessboard.


End file.
